


Regumione Tales

by Calebski



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20724722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calebski/pseuds/Calebski
Summary: Stories with one of my favourite hp pairings. One-shots, mini fics and more.





	1. Timeless

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: As you may have seen I am currently posting one-shots in my new collection, The Misfits. Whenever I have prompts my two most requested pairings are Vikmione and Regumione. I thought I would open separate one-shot collections for both so they are easier to search for. If you are waiting on a Regumione gift fic, these are currently being worked on and this is where it will appear!

Prompt: [Regulus x Hermione] Timeless  
for Anon

* * *

Hermione brushed her fingers over the cool metal of the time turner in her hands and felt her heart slowly making its way into her throat. For almost a year, she had wanted nothing more than this, to see the object currently within her grasp fixed, functional and ready to go. She remembered something her Granny had always said about the problem with wishes from the heart it was that you sometimes got them. 

Now the thing was repaired; ironically, she wanted more time. 

Nothing about this had been planned. A trip to the library to prepare for Professor Snape’s defence lesson had ended in her being catapulted into the past. All Hermione had to show for herself had been her wand and a smashed time turner, though, she had kept that item to herself at least in the beginning. 

At first, Hermione had endeavoured to do as little as possible, to make no ripples in time that might affect the future. But her resolve had faltered when she met Regulus Black. While she might have been discombobulated to meet the Marauder’s younger counterparts, Hermione had become unglued when meeting Sirius’ younger brother. 

But she wasn’t supposed to be here, wasn’t supposed to be falling in love with a man with a mark on his arm - however much he might have changed her perspective - she was supposed to be focusing on going home — going home to where she was needed, to where Harry needed her. 

Though Hermione supposed, there was always the argument that if she solved things _ now_, Harry wouldn’t need her in the future. In fact, if she settled things in this timeline, he would have the best chance at a happy life. The argument made her feel better, and it gave her a legitimate reason to ponder her decision. Her motivations, although more real than she had ever felt, were tinged with selfishness. 

Hermione turned the clock face over in her fingers and couldn’t help but reflect on how cold it felt. 

* * *

Regulus stood at the edge of the cliff and pulled the collar of his jacket up a fraction. It was freezing. He cast a glance around himself and tried not to let the disappointment get to him. Hermione had never committed to coming he told himself,_ and_ _really why would she?_ This was a suicide mission, and she was everything that was bright and good, and he was… he was not. Throwing her lot in with him would be as good as throwing her life away, and she had other options, _significant _other options.

The only other person for miles was Kreacher and Regulus, for once, did not want to start a conversation with his elf - however much he needed a distraction - in case he wanted to try to dissuade once again his master from what the elf deemed a ‘fool’s errand’.

A sudden pop had Regulus spinning on his heel and baring his wand, only it wasn’t what he feared, or maybe it was. Hermione didn’t say anything. She threw her bag on the floor next to his before she pulled his hand into hers and dropped something in there. Regulus carefully prized open his fingers as Hermione bit her lip. 

His breath caught as he regarded the broken clock face and dented metal, and he reached up with a gloved hand to cup her face. “Are you sure?” he asked desperately. 

“Not at all,” she responded quickly but with a shy smile that made his fingers tighten on her cheek. He turned away to nod a Kreacher before picking up both their bags. “We need to talk, but there isn’t time.”

They were too exposed standing there like that. Regulus wouldn’t risk anything, not now he had her. 

Hermione nodded and peered over the cliff edge into the murky waters below. “Okay, Mr Black, let’s go save the world.”


	2. In Reverse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I loved this idea, so this one got a little longer each time I redrafted :)

Prompt: If you are still taking prompts could you write a Reverse! Ready for the storm: Regulus is the one to cast the soulmate spell.   
for Anon (via Tumblr) 

* * *

Regulus stepped into the dark corridor and quietly closed the door to his father’s library behind him. Even though his parents weren’t home, it was a habit that was too difficult to break. There were rules that he had devised for himself to survive in his parent’s home. He moved deliberately and stealthily, and he kept his own counsel. His family crest lauded the purity of his house, but the first lesson he had learnt at his father’s knee was to never turn your back on someone that you didn’t fully trust. In the building Regulus grew up in that could have referred to just about everyone. 

Regulus allowed his head to fall back onto the closed door and tried to calm his rising panic. He could feel himself breaking into a sweat under the dress shirt he was wearing. A stray thought made him wonder how mad Kreacher would be at the irregular stains. It made him laugh. Outwardly. He really was cracking up. Even though there was no one there to see him, Regulus sobered and forbade himself from panting for breath or sinking to the floor. Neither would help him now. 

He couldn’t believe this was happening. In the madness of the last few years, he had seen many things, _ horrible things_, but this… Regulus was beginning to realise just how much he had underestimated the Dark Lord. 

He craned his neck to look down at the slim book he was carrying. He felt as if the worn, black leather was burning his fingers. But the relatively simple casing gave no real clue to the horrors that lay within. Inside, on faded parchment, spidery handwriting mapped out a diary of sorts. It had belonged to one of his ancestors, and he had used it to record pertinent milestones in his life and to induce a side passion, the collecting of spells of the darkest kind imaginable. 

Regulus started when he heard a groan from a floorboard above, but he quickly discounted it. The only person in the house was Kreacher, and if _ he _ was making noise that probably meant the elf was unhappy about something. Regulus had been rather neglectful towards Kreacher of late; he had simply had too many things on his mind. 

_ Who would have thought that lending out his elf would come to this? _

That night, his whole world had turned on its axis. There had been something in his Lord’s demeanour that had set Regulus’ teeth on age. It wasn’t that it hadn’t really been a request, Voldemort never asked for anything. It was more than that. There had been something in his eyes; an anticipation Regulus had never seen before. He’d known something was wrong, but he’d expected deaths within their ranks. Such a thing had become worryingly regular in the previous weeks, and he had become numb to the reality of it. 

Regulus hadn’t anticipated this.

Regulus took careful steps back to his room and relaxed a fraction when he was behind a locked door. He wondered how much his parents knew, but the thought did not distract him for long. _ What did it matter? _His parents had picked their side, so had he for that matter, but he had never been vitriolic. He’d just done what was expected of him. At least, that was what he told himself.

“Kreacher,” Regulus called out into the emptiness. His faithful friend popped in half a second later, looking at his master warily, there was reproach in his eyes but also fear. Kreacher had known him since he was a boy and the little elf knew he was up to something. He just wasn’t ready to discuss it yet. 

“I need some parchment,” Regulus requested before looking up at the clock on the wall, it was already past midnight. “And some coffee, strong coffee.”

* * *

The next morning Regulus made his command appearance at the breakfast table so his mother could have a captive audience to voice her displeasure over the events of the previous evening. Regulus knew his part by now. This was a game they had played since he was little. He would sit down in his designated chair and listen to how she would have done it differently, from the guests to the food. Occasionally his ear would be caught by an idle piece of gossip, something that might have been interesting or valuable for him to know, but more often than not it was drivel. 

Regulus, after years of practice, was able to nod along in all the right places and resist the urge to look over at the empty chair on the other side of the table. The one where no place was ever set anymore. He never asked why they didn’t get rid of the chair; he didn’t need to. Despite what his older brother might have thought, their parents were very capable of more subtle means of keeping their children in line. For Sirius subtly was never going to be enough to bring him to heel. For Regulus, the simple reminder at the beginning of each day that Sirius had gone, had abandoned them all and wasn’t welcome back, was enough. 

Outwardly, Regulus imagined he looked like nothing had changed. Black’s thought maintaining image was necessary, and while they were allowed, or even expected, to be emotional, it was only ever to be on their terms. Behind his neutral expression and freshly laundered clothes, Regulus was in turmoil. 

His mother continued talking, his father disappeared behind his paper, and Regulus felt mute. He’d known before he came downstairs that he couldn’t share what he now knew, but facing the reality of the information burning in his chest while they carried on as normal had him excusing himself from the table early. 

As he walked back to his room to get his winter coat, Regulus considered Severus Snape. The older boy was the closest thing he had to a true friend though their relationship had never been close. Regulus wasn’t sure Severus had ever had a close friendship. But, kinship aside, relative or otherwise, Regulus knew he couldn’t trust him, not with this. 

Though he had seen instances of doubt in Severus, moments that made him wonder if Severus was still as sure about the choices he had made, he also knew Severus was desperate to prove himself, to gain the respect of his peers, and to earn his place. Regulus couldn’t risk him alerting someone of what he found. 

No, he could trust no one. He would have to find a way of doing it alone. 

* * *

A week later, Regulus had made no further moves in any positive direction. All he had managed was pour his frustrations and worries into his diary and had then layered the small leather manual with as many wards as he could think of, and then quite a few more that he researched to pass the time. It was procrastination at its finest, and it was not something he was familiar with.

When he lay in bed at night, he would stare up at the ceiling, thinking everything over again and again, as if some solution would suddenly appear. _ The Dark Lord had split his soul, part of him was living inside another thing, and it would keep him alive. He was no longer mortal. _The man that walked back and forth among them as if he was delivering them their world on a gilded platter had very different aims to those he had shared with his supposed inner circle. 

Regulus had never given much thought to souls. His interests had always been in the tangible. For all of his family’s interest in Dark Magics, he had found himself more drawn to blood magic. This was something deeper. 

_ The Dark Lord’s soul was fractured and torn, broken by murder and darkness. _ A piece of that man was sheltered inside something. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew where it was being kept. 

It reminded him of some sickly sweet card that Rosier had gotten for Valentine’s one year. _ My heart beats within your breast_. The group of young boys they were then had laughed mercilessly at the clumsily attempt at flattery, but in recalling it now, it sprang a thought — a tiny glimmer of light in the swamp of his mind. 

_ Souls, living in another _ … _ if it meant? _

_ Could that be the answer? _

* * *

Regulus thought over how it would work, then he worried he’d reached an impasse in his plans for the Horcrux, so now he was focusing on a non-issue to distract him from the inevitable. And yet, he needed help. There was no way he could do this alone, not if he wanted to come out alive. The likelihood of death was astronomically high, and if he failed, someone else would need to join the fray, but he couldn’t trust anyone else. Apart from, maybe….

Regulus had disregarded the idea at first, it had been too crude, too stupid. But then he remembered his lessons as a boy. People often overlooked the old magics now, in favour of what was flashy, what was easily taught and easily mastered. Magic for vanity, his father would have called it. 

Regulus appeared with a soft pop in a grassy field dotted with flowers, behind a house shaped like a rook. He was far away from the lights on the ground floor, but the person he was seeking was more likely to be outside. 

He wasn’t searching long. Pandora Lovegood’s slippery mane of blonde hair was easy to spot in the dying light, no matter how many dark petals she had tangled through the strands. 

“Regulus Black,” she greeted without looking up at him, her hands buried in the earth. “I believe you have a question for me?”

Regulus stepped closer and tried to keep his face impassive. It was obvious why he was there, they hardly knew each other, and certainly weren’t well enough acquainted for this to be a social call to congratulate her on her recent marriage. 

He looked towards the little house again and wondered at Xenophilius. How could he stay in his quirky abode even when he knew Regulus had come seeking out his wife? He must have felt him crossing the ward line. He supposed Xeno had never really acted like any of the other purebloods he knew and apparently he didn’t feel the need to come and find out what was going on. Maybe, more likely, the man had an excellent idea who he had married and didn’t feel like the fey-like witch at Regulus’ feet needed protection from any many, husband or otherwise. 

“I need a spell,” Regulus said eventually, trying to keep his voice level. He wanted to whisper, to lean forward to block out the chance of anyone overhearing, even though there was no one around. 

Pandora nodded, removing her hands from the ground and shaking them off. “People always do,” she replied, meeting his steadfast expression with an impassive gaze of her own. “Though I would I would imagine,” she said, wiping the dirt off her long fingers, “that you have all kinds of books scion Black. More than I could ever dream of. So what sort of spell would make you travel to my home at dusk?”

Regulus gritted his teeth. He had learnt not to bother trying to be deceptive with Pandora, it made her cross, and she wasn’t a witch you wanted to be angry with you. “You know perfectly well,” he chastised lowly. He was sure she did. No one asked how Pandora knew things; by now, it was just an accepted fact. 

The blonde shrugged, getting to her feet. Regulus tried not to wince at her shoeless state. _ Honestly, what was Xenophilius thinking? _Free-spirited was one thing, risking hypothermia was another. Wives were supposed to be precious and well treated - and if his peers were anything to go by, bloodthirsty and irrepressible, but still, even Bellatrix wore shoes. 

“Maybe I do. But if you cannot speak the words, young Lion, how do you imagine you will convince _ her _ you have done the right thing?”

Regulus didn’t respond. He didn’t have an answer; he hadn’t thought that far ahead. It wasn’t like him any of this, but he was trapped. There were no good choices left. 

Pandora released a breath and reached inside her lurid, clashing robes to pull out a piece of parchment. “This is what you seek.”

Regulus reached for it only for his hand to fist as she drew the parchment back to her chest. “Consider before you do this Regulus, time is a funny thing. It is unpredictable. It does not care for kindness or good intentions. It has its own plans.”

Regulus didn’t understand the reference. He had no intention of messing with time. He had enough on his plate. He stood still for a couple of minutes debating with himself. He could walk away and never think about this again, go back to planning what he could achieve on his own. But the promise of what Pandora held within her fingers was too tantalising. 

He must have been considering for some time. The sun had almost completely slipped beneath the horizon when he was resolved. “I don’t have a choice,” he offered finally. 

“We all have a choice,” Pandora stated gravely, “though you never know, you may have just made the right one.” She handed over the parchment, and Regulus gripped it tightly. “Be gentle with her, Regulus. She may not be what you expect.” 

Pandora walked past him without another word, back towards the house and her waiting husband. Regulus paused a few moments before heading back to the place of his arrival. 

He pushed the scrap of parchment inside his jacket and reflexed on Pandora’s warning. He hadn’t even considered that he had_ expectations _ of the girl at all, but then that was a lie. The very reason he needed the spell was because he had all the expectations in the world, that she would be capable of helping, that she would _ want _ to. He thought about other desires, ones he would not let himself voice. Ones that hinted that maybe this could be a way out of all this hopelessness, that perhaps he could find happiness. 

Regulus tried not to think about what he was contemplating in an emotional sense; that line of thought only brought guilt. Remorse for pulling a person - his perfect match - into this mess. He stood in the dwindling light and almost laughed, he’d dared to question Xenophilus’ treatment of his wife when he would do this. But then, he supposed, if they were his perfect match, they would understand the necessity, maybe even not hate him for it. 

* * *

Regulus stood in the centre of the hotel room he had just paid for with his shirt sheets rolled back and pushed his hair out of his face. Since coming into the room, he had locked the door and pushed back all of the furniture. He supposed that he could have used his wand, but somehow it made him feel better to stay active.

He had never been into a Muggle hotel before, and he had not been without trepidation. Still, now he was there, he was reassured it was no different to what he had become accustomed too, though honestly, it was probably a little nicer. He knew that he had made the right call. A wizarding establishment would have been too dangerous. 

He shook his arms out for a few seconds, stretching his worn muscles and then grabbed the bottom of his bag and emptied the contents onto the bed. It didn’t seem enough supplies for what he was going to do, and yet he had never known Pandora to be wrong, about anything. 

The witch had written that the spell worked better in a group setting, but Regulus had quickly dismissed that, if he had anyone he could trust he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. Instead, he planned to simulate the required circle with a line of chalk interspersed with candles. It was a device his mother used often. Not being able to stand other people being privy to your private casting was one of his mainly shared family traits. 

With nothing else to do while he was there, Regulus set up quickly. He was out of excuses and out of options. It was time to act. 

The instructions had said the spell needed something of his, something to act as a focal point to ‘call’ to his soulmate. He had picked his diary. There was nothing in the world more personal to him than that, and he would need his notes anyway if he would have any hope of convincing this person that he hadn’t gone stark raving mad.

He’d booked the hotel for a week, and explained his absence to anyone that might wonder where he had gone. The suite of rooms was large enough for two people to spend time together and time apart, as the mood struck, and they wouldn’t have to leave for food. 

He placed the book in his hand and closed his eyes and then a soft chant fell from his lips. The words hadn’t been something he’d recognised, but he had practised earlier until he was convinced he could replicate it well enough for his purposes. 

Regulus kept his eyes closed and his chanting consistent until there was a shift in the room, next to him, in him and then he could have sworn he felt a breeze on his face. There was a dank smell, something musty and yet familiar and then something Regulus would recognise anywhere, blood a lot of it. 

He opened one eyelid, just a crack, warily not looking into the centre of the circle. His eyes flew open when he registered that outside of the ring he had created, books and other random objects from the room were rushing past him. It was like being in the middle of a twister. 

There was a thud, and then _ she _ was there — a mass of tumbling, greasy, seperated and worn curls covering a pale face. Her clothes were tattered and torn, and Regulus saw red trickling down from one hand. He didn’t move for a moment, and then everything went quiet. The candles blew out, and the objects dropped to the floor. 

Still, the girl did not move. 

Regulus sat forward onto his knees, and after a couple of false starts, he gripped the remains of her jumper to turn her arm, following up the trail of red until he could see a jagged ‘M’ carved into her arm. 

“What happened to you?” he asked aloud. He wanted to pick her up and check her over, but he didn’t want to frighten her. If she woke up in an unfamiliar place being held by an unfamiliar person, it was not likely to bring a sense of calm to proceedings.

His hand moved, and suddenly he wasn’t touching tattered fabric anymore but skin. As soon the pads of his fingers reached the flesh or her arm she jackknifed forward, panting hard and staring at him with terrified eyes. 

“It’s okay,” Regulus said, wanting to reassure her before she could hurt herself. “I…”

“Who are you?” the girl demanded. Now that she was sat up, Regulus could see the full extent of her injuries. He was familiar enough with torture to recognise the signs when he saw it. His hands fisted unconsciously. 

“My name is Regulus, Regulus Black and I..”

“Reg… Regulus?” she sputtered and then seemed to fold in on herself. “It… it can’t be,” she choked out. Her throat sounds raspy, and it took Regulus’ attention more than her words. He got to his feet, placing his hands gently on her shoulders.

“Can I get you a drink?”

The girl nodded, looking blankly at him. Regulus fumbled with opening the small cold cupboard he had found earlier and poured a large glass of water before coming back over to her. Her hands didn’t raise when he dropped in front of her, so he lifted the glass to her lips. 

She drank eagerly, but as Regulus tilted the glass, she winced. He had clearly pushed against a sensitive spot on her face, and he gritted his teeth. As gently as he could, he pressed his free hand under her jaw, supporting her and pushing her hair back with his thumb. 

She made no response to the touch, positive or negative though Regulus himself was nearly sighing into the warmth of it. He felt a calm he hadn’t felt in months just touching her. She quietly continued drinking, and Regulus looked at her face, well, what he could see of it. She was beautiful that much was plain and there was a wildness to her appearance that went beyond the fact that she had clearly been living in poor conditions for some time. 

She needed a bath, and she needed some food, and Regulus found he was happy there was something he could give to her. She had been in danger wherever she had been. Though he silently vowed to himself that every person that had laid a hand on her would die, the pragmatic side of him was glad that he had something to offer her, in partial exchange for what he would be asking for her in return. 

She finished the drink, and Regulus felt the weight of what he had to do now; as much as he might have planned, he had never got very far with this bit. _ How did you explain that you had brought someone into what was essentially a suicide mission? How did you do that and convince them that they were matched souls at the same time? _

“I have some things I need to explain,” he began, placing the glass down and sitting back from her, giving her room to run if she needed to. He didn’t think about how he had warded the door. He reassured himself that it wasn’t a prison, that it was merely a safety precaution.

“Regulus,” she unexpectedly interjected. She was looking around the room as if realising something fundamental he didn’t understand. “What year is it?”

Regulus felt the blood drain from his face. “It’s 1979.” 

The girl’s eyes closed and Regulus saw water pool beneath her lashes. He contemplated going to get something stronger from the cupboard, but he made himself wait.

After a long moment, her eyes opened again, and despite her slumped form highlighting her poor treatment, she looked resolved. She fumbled about herself until she found a small sequined bag and then stunned Regulus entirely by reaching in until her entire arm had disappeared into a space no bigger than a postcard. 

She pulled out a diary, an achingly familiar diary. 

“Regulus Black,” she said, as she threw it down between them. “My name is Hermione Granger, and I think I’ve probably got some explaining to do as well. But first, why am I here?”

Regulus looked between the diary and the girl, Hermione, until he felt some semblance of his equilibrium return. He didn’t want to admit this, even to her, but he had said that he would be as truthful as possible. He owed her that much. 

“You are here because I discovered something awful, which, I assume you know more about than I anticipated,” he said as he lifted his diary, and she nodded. “I did not believe that I could be successful alone and so I summoned help.”

“And you got me?” she asked incredulously. “Just what did you ask for?”

“My soulmate,” Regulus said without inflection. That was when she fainted. 


End file.
